The Baker's Not-Quite-Dozen
by railise
Summary: An irate baker is on the loose in Nottingham. Written for Robin Hood Intercomm at LiveJournal.
1. Chapter 1

Marian drew to a halt as she reached the baker's shop, abandoned two weeks prior when the owner could not pay his taxes. Although the small crowd gathered outside suggested that her reasons for having come to Nottingham Town were sound, the stale loaves outside certainly did not.

She had heard that something unbelievable was to be found at the shop, and expected a new baker in residence bearing an amazing treat- a special cake, perhaps, or something along those lines. While the cook at Knighton Hall was a talented woman indeed, both with dinner and dessert, Marian always did have a slight sweet tooth and was hardly one to turn up her nose at the prospect of such a morsel.

Instead, carefully crafted from bread dough, baked, and joined with string so that they could be hung in the doorway, were the words:

"THE SHERYFF STINKS OF ROTTIN CABBAGE"

A group of the other gawkers hurried away, only to be replaced by newcomers, one of whom shared the jest in a fairly loud whisper. Pulling the hood of her cloak up and biting back a grin, Marian quickly made her way toward the forest. The gang _had_ to see this; it would make their week. 


	2. Chapter 2

Allan had been chatting with Giacinta, a barmaid at the Trip with an exotic name but without the accent to match, when a big man with a loud guffaw burst in, announcing that they all had to see the baker's shop immediately.

The day before, Marian had arrived in the forest with a similar announcement, and the gang had all gone- and had laughed long and hard about what was there. He figured it could not hurt to go see it again.

"Come on," he said to Gia with a grin. "This is pretty good."

However, the message hanging from the doorway was not the same as yesterday.

"THE SHERYFF BATHES IN PIG SLOPS"

The small crowd gathered around was snickering, but Allan noted that wisely, none of them were lingering for long.

Gia was less impressed than most. "Pfft. The sheriff don't bathe but once a year or so, thought everyone knew that."

Allan glanced at her as they turned to leave. "I think it's supposed to be a joke."

"Somebody's going to all that trouble, they should come up with something cleverer."

She had a point. Still, with enough ale and enough Giacinta, words made from bread were soon the last thing on Allan's mind.

Elsewhere in Nottingham, someone was thinking quite keenly on them, indeed... 


	3. Chapter 3

The sheriff was not happy. And when he was unhappy, Guy was _very_ unhappy.

Messages denouncing Vaizey were being formed in bread dough and hung in the supposedly-empty baker's shop, and it seemed that all of Nottinghamshire was flocking to town to see the latest one.

On one level, Guy was actually finding it funny. It was not often that someone got the better of Vaizey, and in his opinion, the bastard could stand to be cut down to size more frequently. (Although, he reflected with even more amusement, there would not be much of the sheriff left, were he to be cut down at all.)

Primarily, however, it angered him, as it also undermined his ability to keep the masses in line- and _that_ was unacceptable. So, he established a patrol around the bakery day and night. For three days, the last message remained in the doorway:

"THE SHERYFF WEARS LADYS UNDERTHINGGES"

On the fourth morning, that message disappeared. None of the guards could explain it, despite extensive coaxing in the dungeons of some and sacking of the rest. Still, as long as no new message appeared in its place, Guy was satisfied.

Later, he would wish that he had widened the scope of his stakeout.


	4. Chapter 4

Robin flew around the corner, clutching the satchel full of coins, a pair of guards hot on his heels. So far, he had been unable to shake them; and while he was not too concerned about them catching up, he was concerned about making a wrong turn. In the main part of the castle, he was fine, but these back warrens were still something of a labyrinth. He _really_ did not want to go down the sewer again, but it was beginning to look as though he might not have a choice.

Skidding slightly as he rounded a doorway, he ducked down a passageway that would take him out of the castle a side way. Hoping to lose them in the rows of laundry hanging in this section of Nottingham, Robin weaved back and forth, finally darting between a pair of shops to emerge near the Trip.

Fortunately, there was a substantial gathering of people off to the side of the tavern entrance, and he moved as subtly as possible through it. When he came out at the front, he had figured to find a game of dwyle flonking in progress, but instead, he drew to a halt when he saw a bread sign hanging in an empty shop next door to the inn:

"THE SHERYFFS MOTHER IS A SWAGBELLIED DEWBERRIE"

Robin grinned. The baker was barking up the wrong tree to insult the sheriff's mother. It was doubtful Vaizey even _had_ a mother; he was probably spawned. And he likely would not care a fig about an insult to her.

At the back of the crowd, he could hear the sounds of the guards trying to make their way through and simultaneously break up the gathering, so he used the opportunity to resume his escape. As he sprinted down another few alleyways, he realized that he owed the baker thanks for providing a distraction.


	5. Chapter 5

Isabella opened the letter and began reading aloud as Thornton took a large bite of ham across the table from her.

"_My dearest Thornton,_" she began, making sure to keep her voice from reflecting her opinion of that greeting. "_I trust this letter finds you well..._" She barely paid attention to what it was she was reading, since she could not care less about Lord Acton, his simpering wife, his puerile sons, his vapid daughters, or how any of them were faring.

However, toward the end of the missive, something finally caught her notice. "_My Griselda sends interesting news from Nottingham. Apparently, there is a mad (and literate) baker on the loose, forming messages in bread that insult that sheriff. The most recent, as of her writing, hung near the castle gates and was made to say, 'THE SHERYFF IS A POXY JOLTHEAD.'_" Thornton snorted around a mouthful of turnips, and Isabella found smiling as she continued. "_Great effort is being made to locate the culprit, although to date, neither the sheriff nor his lieutenant-_" She broke off, seeing the name of that man. Guy was in Nottingham? That was not too far from here.

"Isabella?"

Clearing her throat and having a quick drink as though that was why she stopped, she skipped over reading the name aloud. "_Neither the sheriff nor his lieutenant have been able to bring the miscreant to justice, much to the amusement of the townsfolk..._" The rest of the parchment was further discussion of Griselda's brood, all of them as vapid as their mother, and Isabella's mind wandered as she finished it.

She could get to Nottingham. She just needed an opportunity...


	6. Chapter 6

Even though it meant a stronger force of guards had been running around Nottingham lately, Much was still very pleased that the mad baker had not been caught yet. Each message was more entertaining than the last- well, once another gawker read it aloud, so that he knew what it said. The only trouble lately was finding the things. Since Gisborne had begun staking out the bakery, it had become something of a treasure hunt to locate a new message.

So, when Much saw one hanging in the alleyway he had just turned down, he got quite excited... until he noticed that he was not the first to have found it.

A pair of small urchins was gazing up at the bread, which was hanging out of their reach. Much could identify the letters, though he could not figure out what most of "THE SHERYFF IS A GORBELLYED VARLET" said.

As funny as he was sure it was, there was something more important going on. Walking over, he took the sign down and broke off a sizable chunk, glad to find that it was still soft inside. Much handed that portion to one of the children, and an equal share to the other. "Run along and eat it before anybody sees," he advised. After they had, he tucked the remainder in his pack.

No sense letting good bread- or insults- go to waste, after all...


	7. Chapter 7

Djaq did not entirely understand what was going on with this strange baker. While she enjoyed the idea of the sheriff being publicly insulted on a regular basis, the insults themselves did not translate all that successfully. She had been able to get the general idea behind many of them, but still did not appreciate them as much as everyone else appeared to.

The first few had not been all that confusing, but they were getting progressively stranger. Staring at the latest one, which she had found hanging near the public stables, she sounded out the bizarre words at the end of the sign:

"THE SHERYFF IS A GLEEKING SCUT"

"Scum," she knew. "Scut" was not familiar, and she had no clue about "gleeking." The phrase almost sounded like some of those things Allan said, which the gang quickly told her not to repeat in front of villagers. However, the other people nearby seemed to be finding it hilarious.

She shook her head as she walked away. Every time she began to think she was coming to an understanding of the English, they found a new way to prove her wrong.


	8. Chapter 8

Will ran the small chisel along the grain of the wood, nearly satisfied with the design he had carved. Just a little more detailing, then sanding it down and finishing it, and the box would be done.

Hopefully, Djaq would like it. While she did not have a jewelry collection or anything, maybe she could keep some of her specialized herbs in it. That thought made him pause; should he add separators inside to create different compartments? Opening the lid to peer in and consider that idea, it took him a minute to notice the footsteps crunching through the undergrowth toward him.

He jumped up and ducked behind a tree, but relaxed when he saw that it was only Kate from Locksley. As he moved into view, he made a little noise so that she would not be startled by him.

She still jumped, but quickly grinned. "Will! Just the man I hoped to see."

Will's eyebrows inched up. "Oh? Why's that?"

Biting her lip, she innocently asked, "Where might I find apple wood?"

"Apple wood?" he repeated, surprised by the question. "Well, I'd try the orchard first, not the forest."

"Right! Thanks!" And with that, she was gone.

Will was a little nonplussed, but soon forgot about the conversation. That was, until he was making a delivery to Locksley a couple of days later, and saw something curious hanging inside the pottery... something which looked very much like one of the bread signs...

"THE SHERYFF IS A CLAYBRAINED FOOTLICKER"

Wide-eyed, Will quickly looked away and walked a little faster away from the building. This seemed like one of those times when pretending not to have seen a thing was the best option.


	9. Chapter 9

Kate glanced outside as she pretended to dab more glaze onto a pot. Nobody was around, so she quickly set the ceramic and the brush onto a workbench, and dashed over to the kiln.

Opening the door, she quickly pulled out what had been baking in it, and shoved a selection of clay pieces into it. The smell of bread would soon be masked by the different glazes on the pots, especially with the strongly scented plants she had been mixing into the paints lately.

With that done, she carefully picked up the finished piece, taking it over to an inconspicuous corner of the workshop to hang so that it could cool. She smiled with satisfaction as she looked it over.

"THE SHERYFF IS A BESLUBBERING PUTTOCK"

Pleased, she went to retrieve the man behind the work. The recipe was his, but this particular phrase had been all hers. She wondered if it was wrong to be excited that most of Nottingham was going to be talking about her aspersion toward the sheriff.

Nah, she figured. Calling the sheriff names was just telling it like it was. Nothing wrong with that, at all.


	10. Chapter 10

John had barely managed to avoid a group of castle guards patrolling the streets of Nottingham Town. The baker's messages were funny, but he really just wanted life back to normal. Or, relatively normal. Eluding a few uniformed men, delivering goods to the poor, getting back to the forest... was it really too much to ask for in life?

Apparently, it was.

As he turned a corner, he saw two things at once: a tall, aproned man with peppered brown hair, hanging a bread sign; and a different group of soldiers also turning into the street. He barely had time to glance at the floury words, "THE SHERYFF IS A TOTTERING BLADDER", before the guards were yelling, the man was jumping, and the entire bunch of them were running toward Little John.

Since this was clearly the baker, and he would without a doubt be strung up if they caught him, John sighed in resignation and readied his staff. The baker cleared him, and John sprang into action. Half his staff across the midsection of the first guard, the opposite end to the jaw of the second, the initial end to the sternum of the third, and the whole thing to the head of the last man, and they were all down. Turning to the baker, standing in awe behind him, John ordered, "_Run!_"

They dashed out of the town, and were soon safely within the woods.

"Thank you," the baker said, catching his breath.

John nodded, also panting a bit. "So, you're the one behind the bread signs."

"I am," the baker said with a proud grin. Holding out a hand, he introduced himself. "Simon."

John shook his hand. "Little John."

Simon's eyebrows went up. "Robin Hood's man?"

Again, John nodded. "Yes, and we can get you away from Nottingham, find somewhere else to settle, if you need help with that."

Simon frowned. "I've been thinking it would be wise to leave soon. My wife does not like what I'm doing, even though it's the least of what that rotten weasel deserves."

"It's been very entertaining, but it is probably best to quit while you're ahead," advised John.

"Very well." Suddenly, Simon got a gleam in his eye. "Give me one more day, and then I'll gladly accept your help."

John agreed, and they arranged a meeting place and time. As he went back to camp to discuss plans with the rest of the gang, he wondered what Simon was up to.


	11. Chapter 11

Vaizey was enraged. Nearly a month had gone by since that flea-ridden baker had begun leaving his poisonous messages around Nottingham, and still, he had eluded capture. There was a rumor circulating the castle, that a handful of guards had almost nabbed him yesterday, but the men in question were denying it, merely claiming that their injuries were a result of a run-in with one of Hood's outlaws.

While Vaizey did not doubt that it was part of the story, he had instructed his jailer to see about extracting the rest of the tale from them.

Meanwhile, at least he had his plush bed and silk pajamas with which to relax, until the jailer had collected the information for him. Clutching his keyring as he settled under the covers, he was soon snoring.

Hours later, he awoke from a lovely dream, of living in a gilded palace, surrounded by well-trained guards and a bevy of beautiful, silent serving women. Mumbling happily as he stretched, he opened his eyes-

-and screamed for his guards when he saw what was hanging from the canopy of his bed.

Simon smiled to himself as the cart carrying his family and their few possessions bumped along the road to Lincoln. His wife had not liked his idea for one last message, but when she saw that she could not talk him out of it, she had offered the idea for what it should say.

And then, she had personally salted the bread dough.

Therefore, "THE SHERYFF IS A MILK LIVERD MEASLE" would be their family's final mark on Nottingham.

Now, to make a more favorable mark upon Lincoln.


End file.
